


bothered and bewildered

by lotts (LottieAnna)



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Cursebreaking, Curses, Flirting, Fluff, M/M, Magic, Mentions of dogs just because, References to the Connor McDavid/Jack Eichel rivalry, cursemarks, fluffy epilogue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-29 06:28:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10848354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LottieAnna/pseuds/lotts
Summary: “Hey, the dude’s cursed, I’m just trying to lighten the mood,” says Dylan. “Besides, Davo here doesn’t mind.”“Davo?” Connor asks, smirking a bit.Mitch groans. “You can’t give a nickname to our client.”(or: Connor gets cursed. It's not the worst thing in the world, with cursebreakers like these)





	bothered and bewildered

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! If you know anyone mentioned above in the tags, PLEASE click away! This is a work of fanfiction, and does not reflect any of the real people menioned herein! This is meant for fans only! 
> 
> Other important note: thank you thank you thank you to ftc for the INCREDIBLE beta work, right down to helping me figure out warnings/tags, and all your other important observations on the fic! Also thanks to my boyfriend, who knows nothing about hockey or fanfiction but helped me work out the details of this 'verse. 
> 
> This was a pretty fun first magical fic to write, and I hope y'all enjoy it! Check the endnotes for a more spoilery and comprehensive list of potential triggers. Title from "Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered"

* * *

 

It’s Nuge who first notices the cursemark on his shoulder blade, and Pat who puts out feelers for cursebreakers, because no way in fucking hell is Connor going to let the media get ahold of this. The team, apparently, has a fair amount of experience with this shit, and they whirl around Connor like a team of trained experts. Which, honestly, Connor’s surprised they’re not all cursed, considering they’re a pretty good team that just keeps losing games.

According to Nuge, it’s a pretty complicated curse, but not all that powerful. Also, it’s apparently been on Connor since _the fucking draft,_ because magical security for the team is tight, and Connor’s been under it ever since he first put on the jersey.

“How the fuck did no one notice?” Connor asks, a little pissed off, and definitely confused.

“I mean– I just didn’t see the mark,” Nuge says. “You weren’t having, like, particularly bad luck, so I didn’t know to look for it.”

“I broke my fucking collarbone,” Connor says. _I lost the Calder,_ he thinks, which, there’s no guarantee that he would have won it, but still. At least he would have had a shot at it.

“It’s hard to tell the difference between curse bad luck and just, like, life bad luck,” says Nuge. “It’s not a perfect system.”

“Well, can you break it?” Connor asks.

“Oh god, no. I can recognize a cut when I see one, doesn’t mean I can stitch it up, you know? Pat thinks one of the new guys on the Leafs might have a contact, though, who’s like, discrete and all that. One of your buds from Team North America?”

* * *

 

The cursebreakers they fly in from Toronto are named Mitch and Dylan, and Connor takes to them immediately.

"Wow, if this is what he plays like cursed, wonder what he's like like normal," Mitch says. Connor can’t see his face, because Mitch is spotting Dylan, who’s currently examining the mark and rubbing weird shit on it.

"It's my job to be the best," Connor says.

"Wow, you’re not dramatic at all," responds Dylan. "Besides, you’re the best anyway. The two of us” –he gestures between himself and Mitch– “kicked some serious ass back in the day, though. Maybe we could give you a run for your money."

"You guys play?" Connor asks.

"Yep, but cursebreaking's more of a full-time gig," Dylan says. "Better job security, and it pays the bills. Well, mine, anyway. Marns has a sugar daddy."

"Fuck off, Stromer, he's not my sugar daddy," Mitch says.

"A rich boyfriend is basically a sugar daddy you like back," Dylan says.

"I'm pretty sure that's not how it works," Connor says.

"I like him better than you," Mitch says plainly, and Dylan shrugs.

"Fair. But don't like him too much, you don't get to have two rich NHL boyfriends, that's just unfair."

"He’s not my boyfriend, and I can do what I want, so fuck you," Mitch says. "I'm so sorry about him."

Connor laughs. "You guys are fun."

"Yeah, it's nice to be the un-fucker-uppers of people's lives," Dylan says. "Also, first layer's done." He steps away from Connor’s shoulder blade, and moves so he’s facing Connor.

"Sweet," Mitch says, coming around to stand next to Dylan. "How are you feeling, buddy?"

Connor thinks about it for a second. "Lighter," he says. "And more... centered?"

"Nice, looks like Stromer didn't fuck up, then," Mitch says, and Dylan elbows him.

“I’ve never fucked up a first layer,” Stromer sing-songs. “So, any idea who did this to you?”

Connor shrugs. “I dunno. It’s been there for like, a year and a half,” he says.

“Holy shit,” Mitch says. “Caster didn’t want this to be discovered, then.”

“Yeah, also looks like they weren’t trying to, like, kill you,” Dylan says. “Just wanted to– I dunno. Mildly inconvenience you.”

“I don’t know about that,” Mitch says. “Pro hockey? Any minor inconvenience is like, pretty likely to fuck shit up, like, permanently.”

“Like my collarbone?” Connor says.

Mitch nods. “Like– you know, the whole Crosby thing.”

“Wait, Sidney was cursed?” Connor asks, surprised. “For real?”

“Oh my god, we’re cursebreaking for someone on a first name basis with Sidney Crosby,” says Dylan.

“Dude’s had like, 80 concussions,” Mitch says. “Of course he’s cursed.”

“Oh,” Connor says. “Yeah, makes sense. Think he’d have any helpful tips?”

“Probably,” Dylan says. “Do you, like, have his number?”

Connor nods, a bit sheepishly, and Dylan’s eyes are bugging out a bit.

“Please, text Sidney Crosby in front of me, this will probably be the coolest thing to ever happen in my life,” Dylan says, and Connor laughs.

“I have some other big names in my contacts, too,” Connor says, and he knows he’s showing off a bit, but so what, he wants to show off in front of a cute guy.

“What, can you get Gretzky on the line right now?” Dylan asks, crossing his arms and giving Connor a small smile.

Connor shrugs. “I mean, he’s probably busy?”

“I think you’re bluffing,” Dylan says matter-of-factly, and Connor laughs.

“I, for one, don’t find it at all hard to believe that Wayne Gretzky is too busy to pick up his phone,” Mitch says. “Anyway, yeah, first layer’s done, and once the irritation around that settles, we can work on the second one. You’ll be fine, Mr. McDavid,” Mitch says. “Check in with the dermatologist, they can hook you up with some clutch moisturizer.”

“Thanks,” Connor says. “And thanks for, you know, being good about the NDA stuff.”

“Standard practice for doctors, dunno why it isn’t for cursebreakers, honestly,” Dylan says.

“Plus, you can’t leave us a mean review criticizing my partner’s rampant unprofessionalism,” Mitch says, which Connor thinks is a little unfair, because they’ve both been… not unprofessional, but pretty easygoing.

“Hey, the dude’s cursed, I’m just trying to lighten the mood,” says Dylan. “Besides, Davo here doesn’t mind.”

“Davo?” Connor asks, smirking a bit.

Mitch groans. “You can’t give a nickname to our client.”

“Nah, you guys are good,” Connor says. “Really, I appreciate this– all of it. Thank you.”

“Doing our job,” Dylan says. “It’s our pleasure.”

“So long,” Mitch says, and Connor bids them both goodbye as he walks out.

* * *

 

Connor’s always had this idea that cursemarks look like fancy, intricate tattoos, layered with deep magic and symbols. In reality, the mark on Connor’s back looked more like someone had drawn on him in pen and he’d had an allergic reaction to the ink.

The first layer, the dermatologist had explained, is the one that contains the local wards which keep the cursed person from noticing the mark. Which meant that after the first layer is removed, Connor can feel the mark, and it’s itchy as hell. Even with the special moisturizer.

A few days after the first layer is removed, Connor’s so fucking uncomfortable, and he’s halfway to doing something– something really fucking drastic, even if he doesn’t know what, to get the itching to stop, when he remembers that he’s dealing with a magical medical problem, so he should, like, call a fucking professional.

He pulls out Mitch and Dylan’s business card and dials the number of their Toronto office.

“Hello, you’ve reached the office of Practitioners Marner and Strome, how may I help you?” a man’s voice says on the other end of the line.

“Hi, uh, I’m a client of theirs, and I just wanted to ask them a couple of questions–” Connor begins.

“To do that, you’ll have to schedule an appointment. We have no availability today, but we have several slots for tomorrow–”

“I’m, uh, an out of town client,” Connor says. “Um. Can I speak to one of them? I’m sorry,” he says.

“May I ask who is calling?” the man asks.

“Um, I can’t– I can’t really say,” Connor says. “Can you just get one of them on the line? I’m really, really sorry.”

“I– let me check to see if they’re available,” the man says, and puts Connor on hold. The music is incredibly annoying, but thankfully, he doesn’t have to listen to it for long, because someone picks up after five minutes.

“Hello?” Dylan’s voice says from the other end of the line. “This is Practitioner Strome.”

“Hi, it’s– it’s Connor. McDavid,” Connor says.

“Oh, Davo! What’s up, man,” Dylan says, but he sounds concerned.

“I– uh, is it– the itching,” he says. “It’s, like, really bad.”

“How bad is really bad?” Dylan asks.

“Like– like, really, really bad? I don’t– I got the moisturizer, like you said, but I used it all up really quickly, and–“

“Do you have the bottle?” Dylan asks. “Read me what it’s called.”

Connor grabs the empty tube and reads the name.

“Fuck,” Dylan says. “Your reaction changes based on the cursebreaking method, and it looks like there was a mixup and you got the wrong one. I’ll have our derm get you a prescription– what’s your pharmacy’s address?”

Connor gives him the address of the Shopper’s closest to his apartment.

“Perfect. I’ll have the doctor send this in, it should be available for you to pick up in like, 15 minutes, okay? Can you hold on til then?”

“Yeah, I think I’ll be alright?” Connor says. “It’s just– fuck, this is the fucking worst.” Another bout of itchiness strikes him.

“Yeah,” Dylan says. “That’s– you’re not the first one to have this issue. If it goes unchecked it can get really bad, so it’s a really fucking good thing you called.”

“I’m sorry for, like, interrupting you,” Connor says.

“Nah, you’re a client, man. I’ll give you my cell number for next time, though, so there aren’t any more mixups with the front desk. Also, I emailed the doctor, who emailed it in, so you can head to the pharmacy ASAP.”

Dylan gives his number, and Connor dutifully copies it into his phone.

“So, how’s life being slightly less cursed, aside from the itching?” Dylan asks.

“Oh, uh, not terrible?” he says. “I didn’t realize how much small stuff was going wrong.”

“Yeah, that’s what people usually report,” says Dylan. “Fewer paper cuts? Less tripping over shoes?”

“Yeah, stuff like that. And, uh, my neighbor’s dog stopped… hating me? He still doesn’t like me, but he stopped barking, at least.”

Dylan laughs at that, openly. “Aww, puppy’s not an Oilers fan?”

“He is now,” Connor grins, pulling on his jacket. “And yeah, other stuff. My elevator has been, like, at my floor when I press the button sometimes. I don’t even remember the last time that happened.”

“That’s the magic we try to make,” Dylan says.

“I’m sorry– I’m rambling about my elevator, and you have clients.”

“Oh, it’s my lunch break. I have, like, ten more minutes until anyone arrives. Technically speaking, I’m supposed to be monitoring you right now anyway, because you reported high levels of distress.”

Connor is mortified. “Oh my gosh, I didn’t realize. I’m so, so sorry about interrupting your break,” he says as he steps out the door.

“What? No, it’s cool,” Dylan says. “Clients first, man. I finished eating.”

“I– I mean, it’s better now?” Connor says. “I’ll be fine, really.” Since he got on the phone with Dylan, Connor hasn’t been feeling the itching as insistently. He wonders if it was actually that bad if he could just… forget about it so easily.

“Well, yeah, I’ve been distracting you,” says Dylan. “I’m a professional, remember?” he says, as Connor presses the button and waits for the elevator.

And the itching is back. “Oh, fuck–”

“Hey, Connor, you should keep telling me about your neighbor’s dog,” Dylan says. “Big or small?”

Connor grits his teeth and focuses on the inane chatter. “I dunno, medium sized?”

“I love it. I bet it’s incredible.”

Connor’s shocked into a laugh at that. “You’ve never met it!”

“It’s a dog. What’s its name, anyway?”

They continue to talk about random stuff– Connor’s neighbor’s dog, what he’s planning to have for dinner, the Jays– until Connor’s at the door of the pharmacy.

“I’m gonna go in, should I–”

“Keep me on the line, but take your headphones out,” Dylan says.

Connor fills the prescription and is escorted into the pharmacy bathroom, where he takes off his shirt and applies the new cream and–

Immediately, a sense of relief washes over him.

“Fuck,” he nearly shudders, a bit overwhelmed. Then he remembers that Dylan is still on the line.

“Hey, I– it’s all good, I got the stuff.”

“Perfect,” Dylan says. “And you’re feeling better?”

“Like, holy shit, yeah,” he says, and Dylan chuckles.

“Wonderful. I should probably get off the line, because my secretary is giving me a dirty look from across the hall, but I’m glad you’re alright,” Dylan says.

“Oh, I’m sorry for tying up the line,” Connor says.  

“Man, I keep telling you that you don’t have to apologize,” Dylan says. “We’re a real practice, we have multiple lines. Plus, again, technically a crisis.”

“Alright,” Connor says, still embarrassed that he caused a fuss.

“Seriously, though, call if you have any other problems, alright? Marns and I will be up there in a few days, but don’t forget, we’re hockey players too. Don’t be one of the dumb ones who doesn’t report shit. This might be magic, but it’s still your health.”

“Roger that,” Connor says.

“Aren’t you the captain?” Dylan teases.

“I think you guys should take the lead on this,” Connor says.  

“You’re a good patient, Davo. So long.”

“Bye,” Connor says, and as he grabs his shirt from the gross pharmacy bathroom floor, he can’t stop smiling.

* * *

 

There are genuinely no more issues before Dylan and Mitch’s next visit, but they interrogate him about it nonetheless.

“It’s all been normal, I promise. Like, better than before,” he says.

“That’s what being uncursed does,” Mitch says. “No more itching, though?”

“None,” Connor says. “I promise. I do _want_ to get better, you know.”

“He’s one of the smart ones,” Dylan says. “Anyway, time for the next layer. Wanna get all up in this with me, Marns?”

The middle layer is apparently more pure magic, and where the meat of the actual curse is. As far as Connor can tell, Dylan’s better at the diagnostic side of things and basic mechanics, while Mitch is better with the actual magic. It seems to be a combination that works.

“So just– Connor, one of the parts Mitch is about to remove is the part that repelled animals,” Dylan says. “I didn’t realize that was something the caster specifically put in there.”

“Man, that’s fucked up,” Mitch says. “I can’t imagine if my dog and cat just like, started ignoring me. Do you, like, have a pet?”

“No,” Connor says. “No real quality time to spend with it.”

“No one who could watch it while you’re on the road?” Mitch asks.

“I mean, my friends are all on the team,” Connor says.

“Really? No girlfriend in the picture?” Mitch asks.

“I’m like, 90% sure you can’t ask that, man,” Dylan says, sounding tense.

“What, I’m making conversation. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want, Connor,” Mitch says.

“Uh, no,” Connor says. “Not dating anyone.”

“Keeping your dance card open?” Mitch says, and Connor can hear Dylan groan.

“What the fuck, Mitch,” Dylan says.

“I mean, not really?” Connor says. “Uh, that NDA extends to everything I say here, right?”

“Your lawyers typed it up, dude, but yeah, we wouldn’t tell anyone about your shit regardless,” Mitch says. Connor thinks back to Dylan talking about Mitch’s maybe-boyfriend in the league, and figures they probably get it.

“I, uh, don’t– girls,” Connor says, and it’s probably the most awkward way he’s ever told anyone about this. “I mean, I date guys,” he clarifies.

“Oh! Well, then, no gentleman callers?” Mitch says.

“Why are you like this,” Dylan groans.

“Nope, pretty single,” Connor says.

“Gotcha, man,” Mitch says. “Hey, Dylan, the prep stuff is done.”

“Alright,” Dylan says. “So this part is just gonna be you and Mitch, because it’s pretty spell-heavy, so I’m gonna step out. I’ll be back when it’s done, alright? We’ll go over the stuff that’s been removed.”

“Alright,” Connor says, feeling a bit dumb for wanting Dylan to stay.

Dylan closes the door behind him, and Mitch pushes his thumbs deep into the mark, and it feels… warm, a little, but also a little painful, but not in a bad way. It reminds him of the feeling of a really deep stretch, or rolling out his muscles, but not quite as physical. Of course Mitch had told him what to expect, so it doesn’t necessarily take him by surprise, but it’s a new sensation regardless.

“Alright,” Mitch says, removing his hands from Connor. “That’s the chunk of the curse.”  He stays behind Connor, inspecting the mark. “Man, it’s a good thing you called Dylan when you did,” he says. “You were scratching a lot. Your skin is still really fucking red.”

“I– is that bad?” Connor asks.

“I mean, yeah. It irritates your skin, and that can be really dangerous, especially when there’s magic involved. Things tend to escalate, and– they emphasize it a lot in training,” Mitch explains. “Dylan was super freaked out.”

“He was?” Connor says. “He didn’t– I didn’t mean to worry him.”

“I mean, it’s sort of your job to worry him,” Mitch says. “That’s how problems get solved.”

“He didn’t– he sounded calm,” Connor says.

“He’s really good at that,” Mitch says. “Honestly, it was kind of amazing. He was emailing like, eight people at once while he was on the phone with you. I took over some of it eventually, but there was a bit of a scramble there.”

“Wow,” says Connor. “I couldn’t tell at all.”

“Yep, that’s Dylan,” Mitch says. “I’ll tell him to come back in.”

Mitch walks out and returns a few minutes later with Dylan in tow.

“So,” Dylan says, “the curse was mostly… a combination of really small, really annoying stuff? Targeting your personal life, nothing specifically designed to hurt you professionally. The usual nuisances– longer waiting times, hitting red lights– plus the animal repellant bit, and a chunk targeting technology, which means worse WiFi and cell service, plus a lot of other crap, depending on how you use the internet.”

“Alright,” Connor says. “What does that mean?”

“Well, it means, uh, that this was probably some sort of...  prank,” Dylan says. “Also, the collarbone thing was probably just–”

“Just a bad injury,” Connor says. It’s stupid to be disappointed about that, but he thought– he really thought that _this_ was the reason he’d missed the Calder and half his first season, and that he’d be able to finally, finally lead the Oilers to some big victory once it was gone. “So my game hasn’t been affected at all.”

“I mean– yeah, which makes sense,” Dylan says. “Your rink is pretty heavily warded, so the effects of the curse would be most dampened there. Considering your road record– I mean, the bigger concern was more that someone was trying to cause you serious personal harm.”

“So whoever did this was just trying to, like, what, bother me?”

“That would be my best guess,” Dylan says. “Regardless, it’s still pretty illegal that someone did it.”

“Can we trace it?” Connor asks, because he’s angry, and he kind of wants to scream at whoever did this.

“Unfortunately–” Mitch begins, and Connor groans, and Mitch doesn’t both to finish the sentence.

“This sucks,” Connor says, even though it shouldn’t. “I’m sorry, this was all– you guys flew out to Alberta for this,” he says. “And it was just a dumb prank.”

“Hey,” Dylan says. “It wasn’t– curses are a big deal, alright? Really serious shit, in my professional opinion. Even if the effects aren’t designed to hurt you. And it’s not like you could have gotten rid of it on your own.”

Connor sighs. “I guess not.”

“If you think you know who did it, we can try and trace the curse based off a potential suspect,” Mitch offers.

“It was so long ago,” Connor says. “I would guess it’d be one of the other draftees, right?”

“Could be,” Mitch says, “based on the timeline.”

“But like, what’s the point in pranking me if they just– I dunno. Forgot about it?”

“Yeah, that’s the weird part,” Dylan says. “Usually if someone uses a mild curse on someone else, they, uh, want the other person to have to… you know. Ask them for it to be removed. Sometimes for money, but honestly, it’s usually just to embarrass  them.”

“That’s the dumbest thing,” says Connor.

“If it was cast by an 18-year-old boy, that would make sense,” Mitch says. “They’re… pretty dumb, as a rule.”

“But they just, like, forgot about the last part?” asks Connor.

“I dunno,” Dylan says. “Ask around, maybe? Anyone you’re still in touch with from that weekend could give us a good lead.”

“Alright,” Connor says, and he’s still feeling lousy. “Thank you guys, I guess. One more session then, right?”

“Yep,” Mitch says. “See you in a week for the last part of removal.” Mitch turns to leave, and Dylan pats Connor on the shoulder on his way out.

“I’m really sorry,” Connor says, and Dylan gives him a sympathetic look.

It doesn’t make Connor feel any better.

* * *

 

_Connor: hey crouser whats up_

_Lawson: mcdavid! what is up my dude_

_Connor: i have a question_

_Lawson: shoot_

_Connor: do u remember anyone from the draft weekend who was rly magical_

_Lawson: uhhhhh hanny and eichs both took some classes on spells in college why_

_Connor: cant really say, but thanks_

_Lawson: everything aight?_

_Connor: yeah its good_

_Connor: im sorry but i gtg_

_Lawson: dont sweat it_

Connor feels rude, but he knows who did it now, at least, so there’s that.

* * *

 

“What the fuck, Eichel,” Connor says when Eichel answers the phone. “Did you curse me at the draft?”

“Did I _what?_ ” Eichel asks. “Dude what the fuck–”

“Someone cursed me at the draft, you learned fancy magic shit in college, so I’m pretty sure–”

“Pretty sure that I _cursed_ you? I think I would remember,” Eichel says.

“Really? How much of that weekend do you remember, Eichel?” Connor snaps, and Eichel gets quiet on the other line.

“Okay,” he says. “There’s– there’s a slight chance that I maybe cursed you.”

“What the _fuck_?” Connor practically screams. “Why would you–”

“I don’t know, man, I barely remember it! I was drunk and angry, alright? I thought it would be one of those–”

“I didn’t notice for a year and a half,” Connor snaps. “Why did you think drunk magic was a good idea?”

“Oh my god, I didn’t, alright? Like, dude, I’m honestly just– so, so sorry, really,” he says. “I was– I mean, we were-- everything was a lot that weekend, you know?”

“Plenty of people refrained from cursing me,” Connor says.

“Listen, man, I can remove it right now, okay?”

“No, it’s– I already got cursebreakers in on this, alright? And it wasn’t– it was a really dumb curse.”

“So it– I never wanted to hurt your game, alright, so I don’t think I would have done something that was gonna get you like, I dunno, killed.”

“What did you wanna do?” Connor asks.

“Like, make your life, I dunno, 98% perfect instead of 100%?” Eichel says. “I know it’s bad, don’t worry, I’ll let my license to practice magic expire, okay? I just– shit, man, this isn’t why you got hurt, right?”

“I– no, it’s not,” Connor says, and at least Eichel has the decency to not sound relieved to hear he didn’t ruin the start of Connor’s career singlehandedly.

“Alright, what’d I do?” he asks.

“You made my WiFi connection worse and made dogs hate me,” Connor says. “And I had to wait a while for the elevator. But that’s not the point. I had to fly in two guys from Toronto, and cursebreaking–”

“It’s a fucking pain, I know, I’m sorry,” says Eichel. “Are you gonna– I’d understand if you wanted to press charges or whatever, I just didn’t–“

“I’m not gonna– I’m probably not gonna press charges, just– you’re a fucking asshole, you know that?”

“Yeah, I am,” Eichel says, and it doesn’t sound snarky. “I’ll pay for the cursebreakers, at least.”

“Yep,” Connor says, even though money doesn’t really matter. “Their travel expenses too. And, like, a tip.”

“Do you tip cursebreakers?” Eichel asks.

“You do when they’re flying between Toronto and Alberta every week to undo something you could’ve undone in three seconds,” Connor says.

“Fair,” Eichel concedes. “Fuck, man, I really am sorry.”

“Whatever,” Connor says, and he hangs up angrily.

* * *

 

_Connor: hi i found out who it was_

_Connor: this is connor_

_Dylan: hi connor! good on you for finding who it was. we can trace it back to them for conclusive evidence, if you’re interested in pressing charges?_

_Connor: idk if i want to?_

_Connor: can i ask ur advice on this_

_Dylan: yeah go for it_

_Connor: idk pressing charges takes a lot of time and i don’t have that in my schedule, and he already said he’s gonna let his license to practice magic expire, and pay for you guys, and wouldn’t that be what the law would say anyway? but then it would be this whole public thing over something that happened a long time ago and i feel like it would just reignite it when it’s so close to being behind me?_

_Connor: sorry that was a long text_

_Dylan: no worries._

_Dylan: id say that if you don’t think pressing charges will help you, don’t do it?_

_Dylan: it’s a tough situation, and im sure people will be behind you either way_

_Dylan: marns and i will be!_

_Dylan: if u think he’s serious about giving up magic and don’t want to deal with anything more then don’t do it_

_Dylan: im not a lawyer so i don’t know the technical stuff? but it’s really your choice_

_Connor: alright thanks_

_Connor: figured id let you know i found out who it was_

_Dylan: care to share? if u want_

_Connor: jack eichel_

_Connor: he was drunk and forgot about it?_

_Dylan: okay this isn’t me talking as ur doctor but fuck him_

_Dylan: drunk magic is sooooo forbidden_

_Connor: yeah_

_Connor: ugh im really sorry to both of u, thank u so much_

_Dylan: again it’s our job to break curses we’re cursebreakers_

_Dylan: it’s in the name_

_Connor: is it unprofessional to get u guys tix to the game next time ur in town_

_Dylan: i cant answer that in good conscience_

_Connor: fine would it be unprofessional to get mitch two tickets to the game next time ur in town_

_Dylan: sneaky, haha._

_Dylan: totally acceptable!_

_Connor: i’ll set that up._

_Dylan: thanks, dude._

_Connor: np_

* * *

 

The last session is fairly normal, and Mitch spends most of it trying to convince Connor to get a dog.

“C’mon, I feel like a little one would suit you,” he says. “Like, big, bad hockey player with his fluffy sidekick, ya know?”

“Have you considered getting a dog?” Connor asks.

“Do not get me started,” Dylan says. “It’s all he talks about.”

“Well, I might now, actually,” Mitch says. “Since Stromer’s moving away.”

“You’re _what_?” Connor asks, jerking away from Mitch’s touch.

“I– uh, yeah. I was gonna mention it later,” he says, glaring at Mitch.

“Where are you moving?” Connor asks.

“Asshole got into school here. Gonna study curses for fuckin’ _ever_ ,” Mitch says. “Come back, I have a few more things to remove.”

“I– you’re moving _here,”_ Connor says. “To Edmonton?”

“It’s been in the works for a while now,” Dylan says. “But, yeah, I’ve finalized housing and stuff, so it’s the PhD life for me.”

Connor can’t think. “I– you should have told me,” he says. “I mean, you didn’t– you didn’t need to, but– you can come to games,” is the first thing that pops into his head. “You have to become an Oilers fan now.”

“Hey, you can take a boy out of the 6ix, but you can’t take the 6ix out of the boy,” Mitch says. “Right, Dylan? Leafs for life?”

“I’m from Toronto too, you know,” Connor says.

“Alright, then you understand,” Dylan says.

“I’m not responding to that,” Connor says.

“Mitch, are you almost done so I don’t have to be professional? I wanna see if I can make Connor say he’s a Leafs fan.”

“Actually, yeah. Check it, man, but I think we’re finished,” Mitch says, stepping away from Connor.

“Looks good, dude,” Dylan says. “Well, congratulations, Mr. McDavid, you are officially curse free.”

“Yeah,” Connor says, and he grabs his shirt. “Uh, you guys are coming to the game tonight, right?”

“Duh,” says Mitch.

“So, this isn’t goodbye, is it?” Connor feels dumb the second he says it. They’re cursebreakers, not his friends.

“Course not,” Mitch says.

“No way,” Dylan says. “Plus, we’re neighbors now, eh?”

“True. I’ll never get rid of you,” Connor says, but that doesn’t sound half-bad to him. “Uh, stop by the locker room after the game, I’ll let them know to expect you.”

“Sure thing,” Mitch says. “We’ll be there.”

* * *

 

A win is always nice, but Connor is more looking forward to seeing Dylan and Mitch afterwards.

He walks out of the locker room after he’s done with the media and showered, and there they are. It’s strange seeing them when they’re not in their work clothes, but Connor is excited nonetheless.

“Hey!” he shouts, and Mitch and Dylan turn around and smile.

“Hey, man! Sick game!” Mitch says, pulling him in for a hug. “Clutch goal in the second. Fucking sniped it.”

“Thanks,” Connor says.

“Seriously man, thanks for the tickets,” Dylan says, also going in for a hug, and it’s different than Mitch’s, but Connor still likes it a lot.

“Oh, that’s nothing. I, uh, also got you these,” he said, reaching into his bag and pulling out two jerseys to hand over to Mitch and Dylan, who accept them.

“ _Dude,_ ” Mitch says, a little awed. “I love this. I mean, fuck the Oilers forever and always, but this is pretty awesome.”

“Yeah, man, you really hooked us up.”

Connor shrugs. “I just wanted to thank you guys,” he says.

“I– you know you don’t need to, but I appreciate it,” Dylan says, and he smiles at Connor, who smiles back.

“Well– I have a Skype date, so I should head back to the hotel,” Mitch says, giving Dylan some kind of look that Connor can’t interpret, “but it was really a pleasure, man.”

“Thanks,” Connor says. “I’ll see you around, eh? Next time I’m in Toronto.”

“You know it,” Mitch says, and he takes off.

It’s just Connor and Dylan now, and Connor knows what he wants to say.

“I– uh, you have my number,” Dylan says, “so if you want to be in touch, you can– you know.”

“What, you’re leaving?” Connor asks, a bit disappointed. “Do you have somewhere to be?”

“Oh, no, I just figured you’d want to– I dunno, hang out with your teammates or whatever.”

Connor shakes his head. “I mean– I’m not your patient anymore, right?”

“That’s true,” says Dylan.

“Then, I mean– you can grab a drink with me? We can talk about– I dunno. Edmonton,” Connor says, and he can feel his face grow hot.

“Edmonton,” Dylan repeats back at him. “Right.”

“Like–“ Connor says, making a frustrated noise. “Like, I’m asking you to _grab a drink_ with me.”

“Oh,” says Dylan, who looks confused for a second, before his face lights up with recognition. “Oh! You’re saying–”

“Oh my god, go on a fucking date with me,” Connor says.

“Yes, yeah, sure, I didn’t– yeah,” Dylan says, and he’s smiling.

“Great,” Connor says, smiling right back.

* * *

 

**Epilogue:**

“Why are we helping Dylan move?” Mitch whines. “Matts and I don’t live here.”

“Because he’s your best friend,” Connor says. “Plus, he’s busy right now, and he’ll be really fucking excited to see you when he comes back.”

“He’s seeing me tonight,” Mitch complains.

“But this way you’ll get to see him early,” Connor says. “And I get help moving his shit.”

“He didn’t ask you to do this,” Mitch grumbles.

Connor shrugs. “I’m trying to do something nice, sue me.”

“I think it’s sweet,” Auston says.

“See? It’s sweet,” says Connor.

“What the fuck ever,” Mitch says, and goes to pick up one of the four boxes labeled ‘books.’

They hear the sound of a door opening, then Dylan calling after. “Connor?” he says. “I saw your car out front, I _told_ you that–“

“Before you say anything, Mitch and Auston are here,” Connor yells.

“Come in and give me a fucking hug, man,” Mitch adds.

“What the fuck?” Dylan says as he walks into the room, but he’s smiling. “Dudes! Bring it the fuck in!” Dylan and Auston share a perfunctory hug, and when they’re done, Mitch throws himself at Dylan.

“Man, breaking curses isn’t the same without you,” Mitch says.

“I know, it’s rough,” he says, and they break apart. “But things are pretty good, yeah?”

“Of fucking course,” Mitch says. “Now we both get free gear. I mean, I get Leafs gear, so my life is, like, objectively better–”

“I’m sorry, who’s dating the captain?” Dylan shoots back.

“Don’t even get me started–”

“Okay, we get it, we’re amazing,” Auston says.

“We’re gonna win tomorrow, though,” Connor says nonchalantly.

“Mmm, no,” Auston says, smiling.

“Well, Stromer’s a traitor, so I’ll be alone in a sea of orange,” Mitch says.

“I’m not a traitor, I’m just–”

“Supporting your boyfriend, and your new city, blah blah blah, whatever, traitor,” Mitch says, but Connor can tell he’s just chirping.

“Well, considering the circumstances, I’d say he’s supporting me,” Dylan says. “You really didn’t have to do this.”

“See?” Mitch says.

“I wanted to,” Connor insists. “It makes me feel useful.”

Dylan rolls his eyes. “You’re ridiculous,” he says, and Connor’s never felt luckier.

 

**Author's Note:**

> There are a few things mentioned in this fic that I want to give in-depth (and somewhat spoilery) warnings about:  
> -A character is cursed in the fic, and expresses feelings of frustration at the fact that he's been cursed. Howver, he does not feel violated by the fact that he has been cursed-- it is more the effects of the curse that make him angry, not the fact that he had been cursed without his knowledge. The effects of the curse are generally bad luck (specifically, minor and constant inconveniences in his personal life, i.e. a poor WiFi connection or hitting all the red lights on his daily commute). He confronts the person who cursed him over the phone, and though he has grounds to press charges, ultimately decides not to. There are no graphic descriptions of the character's reactions to the effects of the curse.  
> -The curse was cast by a rival of the main character, who, at the time, was under the influence of alcohol. He forgets about the curse until confronted by the main character, and does not defend actions. As part of his apology, he offers personal compensation, in addition to promising verbally to never practice magic again.  
> -A character experiences extreme itchiness as a result of the cursebreaking process, which is made worse by an incorrectly prescribed medical moisturizer. There are a few references to things "getting really bad" as a result of extreme itchinness/physical discomfort, which can mean a number of things. These references are incredibly vague and indirect.  
> -Connor McDavid's collarbone injury is mentioned
> 
> Please let me know if there is any more triggering content in this fic so I can adjust these warnings accordingly!!!
> 
> Generally, the universe I've created here is limited magic that anyone can learn with proper training, though some find it more natural than others. It is not difficult to obtain a license to practice magic recreationally, though it requires further training and certification to use it in a professional setting. Spells can be fairly lengthy and tricky. 
> 
> I've never written anything with any sort of magic in it before, and the idea behind this was, "I want Mitch and Dylan to be a team of doctors treating Connor McDavid." They were originally going to be a team of dermatologists removing an embarassing tattoo, but then I remembered that that's maybe a thing on How I Met Your Mother? And I don't really know anything about tattoo removal anyway, so I figured I'd just... make stuff up. I don't really know the ethics of magical kinda-doctors dating patients, especially celebrity ones, but no one asks out anyone else until treatment is over. Connor also doesn't receive special treatment as a result of his celebrity status or the fact that Dylan likes him. 
> 
> (Things that we don't get to see from Connor's POV: Mitch suspects Dylan and Connor right after the first session, but doesn't mention it to Dylan until they're done treating him. Like, right after they're done treating him. Like, the examination room door hasn't finished closing behind them.) 
> 
> But yeah this is ultimately a somewhat-fluffy fic about a guy who needs a pretty mild curse removed, and the boy he falls for along the way! I hope you guys enjoyed it!!! Let me know if you have any questions about this 'verse below, or just wanna talk about these boys (or Connor's neighbor's dog, my favorite character)


End file.
